


Good Bad Time

by Baneberry



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: They're the worst of enemies, but the sex is great. If... not... a little noisy.





	Good Bad Time

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill for [a prompt](https://maccadams-filthy-fills.tumblr.com/post/161137814789/bw-give-me-the-rare-megop-please-v-bunsuu). The original piece I fudged up and combined Optimus's name into Optimal. Silly me!

“What a sight, what a sight! The fearless Maximal leader, bent over a console and fragged by his greatest enemy! Whimpering like a dying petrorabbit! Isn’t that hilarious?”

Actually, it was more-so a moodkiller.

While it was indeed true that Megatron currently had Optimus Primal pinned against a console, fucking him ruthlessly with abandon, it wasn’t by force. And every time Optimus thought he could just enjoy the moment, revel in ignorant bliss, Megatron just had to open his big mouth and ruin everything with an unnecessary comment, trite taunting, or only semi-witty one-liners. It always brought Primal back to reality, and though he was quite enjoying what the rest of the Predacon tyrant’s body was doing, he was also getting very, very close to calling it quits and returning to his ship with blue ball-bearings.

“S-Shut up, M-Megatron,” Optimus growled, his back slamming repeatedly against the circuit board. He’d opened every door in the bridge at least two times, and even accessed Waspinator’s secret stash of pretty pebbles and a half-empty bottle of low grade hidden in a compartment. A code he thought would be impossible to break, too, but Waspinator was never that smart.

“As always, your sass is a delight,” Megatron chortled. He gripped the Maximal’s thighs tight and hard. The teeth of his tyrannosaurus rex head-hand dug past fur, denting and scratching up dermal plating and armor. Sometimes its eyes would roll up and look a Optimus. Once it even winked. Optimus was disturbed for a moment, then a particularly hard thrust against his anterior node returned his focus to the task at hand.

Optimus was venting heavily, steam clouds billowing from seams. He looked down between his and Megatron’s bodies, lower halves grinding and exchanging paint transfers. He saw Megatron’s thick, purple unit move in and out of him, but only ever a few inches. The sight alone made Optimus dizzy and he groaned, dropping his head back and digging his fingers in a control panel. With any luck, he’d accidentally set off the ship’s self-destruct option–but not before he got his overload.

Megatron, in between sneering and leering, was grunting and growling. Sometimes thrusts were punctuated with snarls and short, deepthroated yelps. Optimus tried to bite his tongue, keep quiet, but every now and then he let loose a whimper or cry or keen. Megatron was thick–it hurt for the first few minutes, but now Optimus couldn’t get enough. He hated it, but it was just… so good. He’d been with a number of partners in the past, but never one so big, or this enthusiastic, for that matter.

Or obnoxious and talkative.

Megatron’s large unit was hitting all his deep-nestled nodes, pumping the charge growing inside his spark and extending through the rest of his frame. Optimus squeezed his eyes shut, saw stars, opened them again. Lube and transfluid dribbled in messy puddles on the ground. The Maximal leader’s legs swung in the air, closing around Megatron’s hips.

Megatron surprised Optimus, nearly getting smacked when he slid his hands up under Optimus’s chest armor and kibble. Found thin plating and seams with surface circuits. He started rubbing circles, kneading into those sensitive, well-protected spots, and Optimus groaned heavily. His optics went crossed, torso rising up into Megatron’s fondling hands. 

This was, unfortunately, not their first time interfacing–and Megatron had learned a few of Optimus’s erogenous zones. He was putty in the Predacon’s hands, but for all his pride and grandiosity, Megatron knew Optimus could snap into battle mode in the blink of an eye and become a real threat.

“Oooh, I love the way you squirm beneath me, yes,” Megatron purred. One hand ran down the Maximal’s slick torso. He pushed back the hood of Optimus’s anterior node, started rubbing aforementioned node with two fingers. Fast enough they almost vibrated. Optimus yelped, clenching around the unit seated deep inside him. “Yessss,” Megatron groaned.

“Muh-Megatron,” Optimus panted, optics tinted violet and glazed with coolant. More dribbled from his open mouth. He looked down at Megatron’s hand working his node, jutting out his hips and riding into both fingers and unit.

Megatron leaned in, pressing against Optimus. “Kitty got your tongue, hmm?” he teased, his voice a deep rumble. His engines revved, jolting through Optimus’s struts and actuators.

Optimus whimpered. “S-Sigma,” he keened, tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth, optics rolling back. He squeezed the edge of the console so hard he crushed the metal with a loud crunch. A weak, silly smile split his face, and he gazed down at Megatron’s hand under his plackart, the massaging fingers on his node, the fat unit stroking his mesh walls and internal nodules and circuits. “Yes, yes–”

“Yes!” Megatron snarled, grinning victoriously. He licked his lips and pearly teeth. “Yes, yes, y-–” The Predacon choked, charge reaching its peak. He grabbed Optimus’s hips again, and with three more rushed thrusts, held himself against Optimus as he overloaded inside him. 

Megatron howled, beaming wide as he climaxed. Optimus grunted, wincing; he could feel the hot transfluid leak around Megatron’s unit and cut down his thighs. Spark releasing a powerful pulse that rocked and shook Optimus’s own, Megatron came down with an equally obnoxious “oomph,” limping and sliding his depressurizing unit free.

Optimus was the good guy, so he gave Megatron time to recalibrate and catch up. Enjoy the afterglow. But after a couple minutes, he was starting to get antsy and sore. “You’re e-evil,” he spat, shoving at Megatron’s plackart, “but not even y-you would be that a-awful.”

Megatron got the hint. He laughed. “Oh no no no! Of course not,” he snickered. “Allow me.” He drew to one knee, Optimus confused at first. Megatron admired his work–all that transfluid inside Optimus’s gaping, trembling channel, marking his thighs. Optimus shifted and Megatron snorted at his impatience. He leaned forward, pressing his tongue against Optimus’s folds before pushing inside and licking fast.

“Nnn!” Optimus grabbed Megatron’s bobbing head. He half-sat on the Predacon’s massive shoulders, half on the console. “M-Megatron, Sigma,” he croaked, bucking his hips and grinding his channel into the Predacon’s sneering mouth. 

Optimus squeezed his optics shut, chewing the corner of his bottom lip; he brought a hand up beneath his chest and stroked those delicate seams. One hand remaining on the top of Megatron’s helm, occasionally guiding him when he went too slow or too fast. “I’m o-overload-load–!”

Optimus’s optics snapped open, gaping. His actuators tensed, entire body stiffening. Climax gripped his spark tight. Megatron sat back as transfluid squirt past his face, almost hitting him. Then, Optimus was done, and lying out on the console. His spark relaxed again.

“So cute, my little Primal,” Megatron purred, standing. He pinched Optimus’s cheek. “I love it when you squirt, yes.”

Optimus growled, rolling his optics and jerking away.


End file.
